


Junk in the Rat's Nest

by Blakpaw



Series: The City of Junk [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Child Death, Death, Trauma, children in the apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blakpaw/pseuds/Blakpaw
Summary: Rat's stick together, always.





	Junk in the Rat's Nest

In the beginning, there were 40 of them, 40 lost, scared, and sickly children banding together to survive the harsh deserts of the newly birthed wasteland. The first year passed them by unnoticed, and the children built up there own kind of system. Each child had one care taker, each caretaker could have multiple children. The older children took care of the younger, and they took care of the even younger ones, and so on and so forth tell the youngest were reached. The oldest kids stayed up for watch the latests, the smartest kids planned out housing situations each night as they traveled, the quickest kids hunted food, the biggest and strongest protected them from wild animals, and the smallest kids slid into tiny spaces to grab things others couldn’t reach, or to scout out areas to see if they were safe enough.

Jamison was somewhere in the middle, small enough to scout and smart enough to at least suggest idea for shelter, he was the caretaker to three smaller children, 2 girls and a boy, and his caretaker was a kind older girl with soft brown skin, dark black hair, and the most gentle hazel eyes. She told Jamie he was albino, he’d heard his parents tell him that once or twice, but he never really remembered what it meant. She said it meant he’d get sun burnt easy, and she taught him how best to prevent it. For the first few weeks, Jamie had hated the dirt bathes she made him take, lathering himself in layers of dust, soot, mud, whatever else there was, but eventually he stopped caring, because his skin wasn’t red with burns anymore and that was worth it. He in turn, made sure his charges also got these baths, to prevent the sun burns.

By the time the first year passed, one of his girls died, bitten by a spider. They’d desperately tried to keep it clean of pus and dirt, but it hadn’t been enough and the kid died of infection. Jamie himself had lost two fingers on his right hand, they’d been crushed during a scouting mition, he’d been terrified he too would die of infection too after they’d been removed, but he was lucky, and much stronger than his younger charge. He was glad his own caretaker was still alive, he didn’t want to have to get used to a new one, because he liked his. She was nice, and smart, and he really did like her.

As the second year slowly trickled past, and as their numbers dropped more, there society never changed. They still all looked after each other, rarely fought, and when they did they made up before the day's end.

The day they had been found by the other survivors, they’d been staying in a white shed they’d found, the paint was chipping to reveal grey wood, and it smelt of mold, but they’d had worse shelters before. Jamison had been holding his small charge in his arms, a boy with dirty blond hair, soft green eyes, and a cleft in his lip. Recently, he’d been growing ill, Jamie knew the signs well, he’d seen so many others fall to it. The radiation was catching up to the boy, he was vomiting constantly, always cold despite the fact the dessert felt on fire, and Jamie knew if he didn't die of starvation or dehydration the kid would die slowly and painfully. He’d seen all manners of death from all sorts of things, by that time.

They’d all been communing among each other, when they heard the sound of the rumble of something low and loud in the distance. Once glance among themselves, and the children were closing the building up, pushing all manners of things against the doors, blocking the windows from outside view, and scurrying to hide in the corner of the sed, huddled up close together and falling as silent as could be. Jamie was squished between a much larger boy and the wall, holding his charge close, hiding the smaller boy with a majority of his own body.

The rumbling grew closer and closer, until it stopped, but the children did not move, sat in silence, only broken by the occasional gasp for air, sniffle, or gag, muffled and as quiet as possible. The silence was broken when something banged against the door, the blockade shifting a bit, causing a few younger children to yelp, quickly shushed and comforted by their caretakers, all wide, young eyes locked with the door.

Then the sound of muffled conversation met their young ears, and for a moment it settled in. it was people, there were other people outside that door, and with a rush of excitement that only children could muster in a time like this could muster they uncovered the door and peered outside.

It was a band of five, three gruff, large men, and a sturdy, stocky woman, standing by their impressive bikes, staring in awe as 20 children poured out of this tiny building, some holding smaller kids, others with weapons scavenged from homes. For a moment the two parties started, the children ready to cry because in almost two years they hadn’t even heard the voices of adults, and the adults in shock at seeing so many children still alive after the hell they must have been through. Eventually, they pull out food, and fresh water, and the children eagerly take what they are offered, sharing among themselves, some, Jamie included, trying to feed the sick, get them to drink. And then they start to walk again.

The adults are going slow on there bikes, surrounding the kids in a ring of safety, Jamie still has his charge in his arms, pale and shaking. He doesn’t mind when bit when he throws up all along his back, just rubs soft smooth circles and keeps walking, his own caretaker ahead of himself, just in view, and his second charge behind himself. They all walk in lines of the family they made, a line of caretakers, right there should one need a hand to hold, or advice given. The walk lasts almosts five days, and not once do the children lose their enthusiasm, smiling with their heads held high. Except, for skinny little Jamie, who on the third day, holds his charge in his arms as he dies. The next two days he walks, holding his caretakers hand, and the hand of his last charge, a small girl with long brown hair, and gentle blue eyes, assuring himself that these two will not be going anywhere anytime soon.

When they make it to the city, it’s so small, being built up from the ruins of an older city, a wall just beginning to be built around the blooming hell scape they’ll learn to call home. Children are taken by family members, friends of family, and for those to unfortunate to not have either, are taken by the few kind souls left. But the children have changed so much, to much, to just forget each other, and even if the years pass him by in a blur, and his memory fades, he will always remember the kind girl who looked after him, and he will always remember holding the sickly boy in his arms.  
Because somethings you just never forget.


End file.
